


I’m Not Your Stepping Stone

by goflecks



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Soulmates AU, and he has a lip ring so enjoy that, but still very jonathan, cause y’all know me, jonathan is slightly ooc, rated to reflect future chapters, there will be smut and plenty of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goflecks/pseuds/goflecks
Summary: In the end, though his annoyance with Jonathan and just about everything about him (besides his laugh, and maybe besides his meek voice that contrasts with his strong words) is very real, it’s really just a stand-in for the fact that it would be totally and completely stupid to contact him in any way.  If Steve’s soulmate was annoying he would still definitely talk to them, still definitely fall in love with them and everything would be fine.  Steve can handle annoying.  Grow to love it even.But Jonathan isn’t his person, and Jonathan is way too flirtatious, and it would just be a recipe for disaster.





	I’m Not Your Stepping Stone

Steve loves parties.

It’s something about the bustling energy of them, the thrumming music and dancing and of course, obviously, the free alcohol, which is probably in the top one or two reasons that they’re so much fun in the first place.  Sure, he has a supplier, some kid from a couple houses over that he shouldn’t be calling a kid because obviously this guy is older than him if  _he’s_ the one buying  _Steve_ alcohol but whatever, the guy has a serious case of babyface and he’s just really soft-spoken and small-looking and it doesn’t feel quite fitting to call him anything but a kid.  The point is, it’s not really about the alcohol, it’s about the  _free_ alcohol and also about the setting that he’s drinking the alcohol in.

Because he really just likes the atmosphere of house parties, the way he can lose himself in the environment and have _fun_  in a way that he really can’t anywhere else.  Nobody gives a shit at parties.  Everybody just forgets everything that’s going on and lives in the moment.

But this party in particular is feeling just a _little_  bit suffocating.

He glances down at his right wrist, attached to the hand he’s holding his red solo cup in, and to anyone else who was looking at him — not that anyone is — it would appear that he’s sort of just staring at his cup like an idiot.But rather, he’s doing something slightly _more_  embarrassing; he’s staring at his tattoo.

It seems like everyone else has found their soulmate already.Their empty circle has filled in with black as proof that their world is headed in the right direction.They have the love of their life and everything else is going to fall into place. 

And here Steve is, on the fast track to twenty-one, and he’s no closer to finding his soulmate than he was when he was like, five.

To be fair, there’s no actual telling when you’re going to meet them.It just sort of happens and one second your tattoo is empty and the next it’s solid black and everything just _changes_  for you.Some people even have cute stories about how they were so engrossed in their first interaction with their person that they had to go back and find them to make sure they were actually what caused one another’s shift (but they always were, because everyone insists that when you know, you just _know_ ).And Steve knows that twenty-one isn’t that old, but he’s starting to get scared that he’s going to be one of those people who goes their whole young adult life waiting, only to meet their soulmate in the wake of their midlife crisis, and sure, all those people have such an optimistic outlook, insist that it gave them time to further their careers and get everything else sorted out so that when they finally met, everything would be perfect.But quite frankly Steve doesn’t have a lot going for him and he was sort of hoping that meeting his soulmate would shed some light on his situation.Yet here he is, at a frat party, surrounded by people sucking face with their — you guessed it — soulmates.

And he is alone in the sea of them, looking so sad and lonely that it’s almost tragic.Or at least, that’s how it feels. 

He empties out the last of his drink into his mouth, all but tapping the bottom to leech the remainder of it, and he decides that he needs to get some air.

He makes his way through the crowd of people to the sliding glass door, feeling the thrumming music through his shoes, and as he steps outside the cool evening breeze is comforting, sobers him of his thoughts a bit if not of the booze in his system.  He takes a deep breath, shutting it behind him, before he realizes he’s not alone.And his heart just sort of sinks.

Usually this would be the perfect setup for a meeting.This might be the ideal story for your grandkids down the line; _Yeah, we met at a party, we were the only two people outside and we just clicked_.But this guy looks like something straight out of a nineties issue of The Rolling Stone.Baggy flannel, lip ring, a cigarette in his hand, the whole nine yards.It’s like he was waiting for Steve to come out here so he could tell him that he was born in the wrong generation.Steve glances down at his wrist for reassurance, even though he knows the change isn’t activated until at least a few minutes after their first verbal exchange.Still, it makes him feel a little better to see his circle still painfully empty.For the first time in a while, it actually strikes him as good news.

It’s a little too late to turn back now without being totally rude, though.

So he takes a step to his left to lean against the wall next to the guy, a safe distance away from him but still not so far that it would be weird.He’ll start playing on his phone in a minute, once he’s established that he’s not too chatty. 

“It’s kinda like an orgy in there, right?”

Well, never mind.

Steve chuckles a little in response, nodding.“Yeah, kinda awkward to be sitting alone.I probably just need more alcohol.” 

“It doesn’t help,” the guy responds, taking a hit off his cigarette.“Trust me.”

Steve turns to look at him, smiling slightly, and makes a mental note to check his wrist again in a moment.“I’m Steve.”

“Jonathan,” he responds, not bothering to return the favor of eye contact.

They’re both quiet for a second while Jonathan nurses his cigarette, and Steve is starting to consider the option of pulling out his phone when Jonathan speaks again, nixing that idea for him.Now he’ll have to wait a good couple more minutes before it becomes a possibility. 

“So you still haven’t met yours?”

“Nope,” Steve replies, turning to look at the vast expanse of the yard before them.It’s surprisingly empty for being in the midst of a party, and he supposes that can be attributed to the sharp chill in the air.  He thinks about asking how Jonathan just _knew_  that, but to be fair it’s probably pretty obvious, with him standing out here by himself.  Could’ve even been a lucky guess. “You?”

Jonathan places his cigarette in his mouth, rolling up his sleeve and thrusting his wrist in Steve’s direction.  

He leans forward to examine it, the harsh black filled into the circle.He gives a hurried glance to his own wrist and finds again that it’s empty. 

Obviously the action doesn’t get past Jonathan because he chuckles, rolling his sleeve back down and grabbing for his cigarette.“I’m not your soulmate, don’t worry.” 

“I wasn’t worried.”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar.”

Steve rubs his nose, glancing away, because he figures there’s no sense in arguing his point.If this Jonathan is a human lie detector he supposes it’s best just to save his breath.He changes the subject instead.“When did you meet them?”

“Oooh, I met her...” Jonathan tips his head back and forth, staring at the sky as he thinks, “two years ago?That sounds about right.”

It’s weird, because Steve has never met someone who’s so flippant about their meeting with their soulmate.When asked about it they always want to gush, can remember the day down to the very last second and every single detail of the encounter.This Jonathan guy is definitely a little out there but that’s just...unexpected.

“Where is she?” Steve asks, and Jonathan just shrugs.

“Uh...not here.” 

Steve frowns, trying to work what he’s saying out in his brain.

Sure, that could just mean that she’s away somewhere, he supposes, that she didn’t happen to come to this party with Jonathan, but that’s also pretty unheard of.Soulmates notoriously go everywhere together, considering that they’re quite literally each other’s other half.They don’t often do things alone, for any reason.They usually even work the same jobs, frequent the same places, have the same friends.They’re like siamese twins.They’re inseparable.

His eyes widen as realization pours over him, and he stammers a bit as he tries to find his words.“Oh God, I’m sorry Jonathan, is she—“

“No,” Jonathan snorts, tossing his cigarette on the ground and smooshing it under a worn shoe.“No, she’s not dead.She’s just, uh...We don’t talk.”

“ _What_?” 

Now  _that’s_ one that really catches Steve off guard.  He’s never heard of someone just  _not talking_ to their soulmate.  He sort of thinks that maybe Jonathan is fucking with him.  Steve usually looks at the ceiling when someone says it has ‘gullible’ written on it.

Jonathan scratches his head awkwardly, leaning back against the wall.“We just don’t.I met her, we tried it, I didn’t really like her...That was about it.” 

Steve laughs incredulously, pushing off of the wall so he can turn and get a better look at Jonathan.“Wait, what?”

Jonathan sucks his lip ring into his mouth, the metal clacking against his teeth.“You wanna put me on trial?  It’s like I killed someone, ain’t it?  That’s how you’re looking at me right now.”

“Well it’s just insane,” Steve blurts out, sort of a little irritated.  All he ever thinks about is meeting his soulmate, and Jonathan got so lucky as to meet his,  _two whole years ago_ , and he just...what?  Told her to fuck off?  Who does he even think he is?

Jonathan shrugs, his tongue flicking out against his lip ring to wiggle it around. “I mean, yeah, maybe.  I get that it’s like,” he raises his hands to make air quotes with his delicate fingers, “ _what you do_. It’s just not how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.”

Steve just stares at Jonathan, trying to work all this out in his brain.So this weird, hipster-rugged hybrid kid just decides that he _doesn’t like_  the person that he’s destined to spend the rest of his life with, and then what?He just lives the rest of his days without purpose?Wandering around aimlessly?How can he walk around knowing that the circle on his wrist is full and there isn’t actually someone by his side to fill it?He’s literally never heard anything like it.  He wonders again if he’s being fucked with.

He tries to remember if he’s seen Ashton Kutcher anywhere tonight.

Jonathan obviously takes his silence as a cue to keep on speaking, because he does. 

“Look, I wouldn’t expect you to really understand, because you’re obviously the kinda person that goes with the flow, Steve, but don’t you think it’s all kind of restrictive?”

Steve scoffs, the rest of the sentence flying straight over his head for the moment.“I don’t just _go with the flow_ , dude.” 

“Mhmm.”Jonathan fiddles with his lip ring again, pulling one of the balls on the end between his teeth.He glances down at Steve’s feet, motioning with his head. “Are those Yeezys?”

“Wha- Yeah, but...”Steve looks down at his shoes, shaking his head.“What you wear isn’t directly indicative of—“

“Sure it is,” Jonathan cuts him off, scuffing his own ratty shoe against the concrete.“Everything we do is indicative of how we navigate life and how much we care what people think of us.”

God, this guy was okay for a second, but now he’s really getting on Steve’s nerves.

“Yeah, that’s poetic,” he says flatly, looking back up into the yard.

“I thought so.”

“So I suppose you think you’re some sort of exception.You wear your grungy clothes and have your lip ring and messy hair so that means you couldn’t give a single fuck?”

Usually Steve isn’t this rude to strangers but to be fair, usually strangers aren’t this rude to Steve.He knows that Jonathan is probably like this with everyone.If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t just be saying all this random shit to _him_ , who he’s known for the better part of like, five minutes.But still.He’s sort of offended.

Jonathan shrugs, his gaze joining Steve’s off in the distance.“Of course I care what people think about me.I just don’t waste my time with the superficial stuff.”

“So that makes it less try-hard?”

Jonathan laughs softly, and it’s not a sarcastic or condescending laugh, it’s a genuine one, Steve can hear that.His laugh is soft and breathy and almost _sweet_  in contrast to his appearance and demeanor.He sort of feels like he’s seeing a part of Jonathan that he wasn’t really supposed to, feels almost voyeuristic about it, like he should’ve taken him out to dinner first.He’s never felt like a laugh was such an intimate thing before.He checks his wrist again, just to be sure.No dice.Good.

“I like you, Steve,” he says softly, and Steve rolls his eyes at that.

“Am I supposed to feel like you’re God’s Gift?Like since _you_  like me I shouldn’t worry about anyone else doing it?”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Jonathan says, pointing a finger in Steve’s direction and wagging it a bit for emphasis.“That, right there.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, shooting Jonathan a look.  Hopefully one that says,  _Okay, cool, I literally don’t care_ , because that’s more or less what he’s going for.

”But no,” Jonathan continues, a smile still dancing in his eyes and on his lips, “I’m just telling you.  I like you.  Do with that information what you will.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do with it?” 

Jonathan snickers, pushing himself off the wall, and Steve finds himself wishing that it had been another full-on laugh.He wants to chase that sound in a certain way.He feels like it’s sort of a rarity.“C’mere.”

He makes a grabbing motion for Steve’s right arm, and he holds it out confusedly against his better judgement.Who knows what this guy is about to do with his arm.Break it just to prove that he doesn’t give a fuck?But his curiosity obviously overrides any apprehension.He watches as Jonathan takes his wrist gently in his hand, and his touch is soft, much like his laugh.He doesn’t know how Jonathan can be the way that he is, and yet have so many features about him that are so much like honey.

Jonathan reaches into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a Sharpie and uncapping it with his teeth.He holds the cap between his canines and Steve’s arm steady in his grip as he scrawls on his skin quickly.

When he’s finished, he releases Steve from his grip, popping the piece of plastic out of his mouth to place it back on the top of the marker with a light pop.

Steve brings his arm up closer to get a good look in the darkness.Scribbled lazily on his skin is a number, just above his tattoo.

“Get ahold of me sometime if you ever wanna tell me more about myself.”

”Oh I could do that right now,” Steve offers, and there it is again.  That beautiful laugh.  It rings out gentle and sweet in the breeze and when he’s done, Jonathan tugs his lip ring back into his mouth with his teeth, biting it through his grin.

”I’d love to stand here and play Two Truths and a Lie but I have an 8am.  We’ll have to rain check.”

“So you care just enough to actually go to your class, but don’t care enough not to go to a party the night before,” Steve observes, looking at him pointedly.

Jonathan grins, tapping a fist gently on Steve’s chest.  Now that he’s closer he feels sort of tiny in comparison, shorter than Steve by at least a few inches.

”You’re  _so good,_ ” he praises, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper for emphasis.

And before Steve can summon a witty comeback, Jonathan pushes past him to slip back into the house, through the sliding glass door and out of Steve’s sight.

He sighs, examining the writing on his forearm.  _So_  pretentious and quirky and look-at-me-I’m-different of Jonathan to write his number on his arm with a fucking marker, as if he couldn’t just ask to put it in his phone or something.But somehow, it feels more personal, like it’s something he can’t just shake.It’s going to be a part of his body for the rest of the evening, and probably for a couple to come, unless he really gives his skin a good, painful scrub in the shower.It takes him a moment to realize that as much was probably Jonathan’s whole intention, and he wonders if everything he does is that well thought out.

If it is, he’s dealing with a pretty smart guy.An ostentatious, obnoxious guy, but a smart one.And an interesting one.

And one that he definitely isn’t going to call, which he’s sure will really throw Jonathan for a loop.

He swears under his breath as he shoves himself off of the wall as well, making a grab for the sliding glass door, and he wonders exactly what class Jonathan has at 8am.

 

•••

 

Steve shovels a bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth, glancing up at Nancy while she tells a very animated story about her math class.He feels a little bad that he’s not listening to her — she always listens so well to what he has to say — but he’s tired and he’s hungover and his mind is just...on other things.

Last night after slipping back into the party, he drank some more, and then some more, until the party seemed fun again despite being surrounded by a bunch of people being all obnoxiously happy.Jonathan was wrong; it does help eventually, and Steve did a good job testing that theory.

Then, he drunkenly escaped the frat house in an uber to make it back to the safety of his own rental.Because _no_ , Steve isn’t actually in a fraternity and _yes_ , he has the class to not pass out on peoples’ couches at parties, or at least he does most of the time.He’s more three-dimensional than Jonathan seems to think he is.Or maybe, exactly as three-dimensional as Jonathan thinks he is, considering the phone number scrawled on his arm.

Steve clears his throat, tugging at the cuff of his long-sleeve shirt as if someone might see the Sharpie burning through.

Yeah, he’s thinking about Jonathan.   _A lot_  actually.It was such a simple interaction but by far one of the most interesting ones he’s ever had.Jonathan is arrogant, and quite frankly sort of annoying, but Steve just has this nagging feeling that if he tears back some of that exterior he’s going to find a lot of intriguing things.He feels like Jonathan has a lot to offer, whatever _that_  is.

Maybe he’s reading it all wrong.  Maybe Steve is the smart one and he’s actually just adding substance to people that are made up of literally nothing important at all.

But who is he kidding.  It’s probably the exact other way around.

And okay, he’ll admit it.Jonathan is attractive.In his look-at-me-I’m-so-different type of way.But the joke’s on him because it has nothing to do with his thrifted clothes or the metal in his lip.It’s the stuff that he doesn’t actually make an attempt on.He has sharp features; dark eyes and prominent cheekbones, and even though he appears to do virtually nothing with his hair besides ruffle it up and let it fly around, it frames his face in just the right way somehow.Maybe that’s all calculated too.And alright, fine, maybe it has a little bit to do with the metal in his lip.  It suits him.

He’s thinking about the way Jonathan toys with it between his teeth, moving it around in circles and in and out, when Nancy’s voice registers in his ears.

“Steve!”

“Hm?”Steve reaches for his coffee and takes a sip, looking up at her.

“How long have you not been listening to me?” 

“Hard to gauge that when I, uh, haven’t been listening.”

Nancy rolls her eyes, breaking a piece of her bacon off between her teeth.“Should I be offended, or ask you what you’re thinking about?”

“Both?” Steve offers, and Nancy laughs softly, in the chirpy, melodic way that she always does.She really puts up with far too much from him.He doesn’t appreciate her enough.

“Okay,” she says, leaning forward on the table.“Wow, you’re so rude, Steven, what’s on your mind?”

Steve takes another couple bites of his eggs, shrugging as he decides what he wants to say.Nancy is his best friend, his closest confidante, and he knows he can tell her anything.But how the hell is he supposed to tell her that he met some hipster kid in the backyard of a party and it’s making him question the entire trajectory of his life right now? 

“Is it...normal...to like, have feelings for people that aren’t your soulmate?”

Nancy sets her piece of bacon down, looking confusedly up at Steve.“Elaborate.” 

Steve sighs, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek.“I don’t know...I met this guy...at a party last night.”

Nancy nods, listening intently.

“I mean, he was kind of a wet blanket.Just...totally full of shit.But I sort of can’t stop thinking about him for some reason.”

Nancy hums, tilting her head back and forth.“Define ‘wet blanket’ in this context.”

“Uh...”Steve shrugs, reaching for his coffee again.“I don’t know.Has a lip ring, smokes American Spirits, probably owns at least two Sex Pistols tee shirts.”

“Oh,” Nancy mouths, nodding her understanding. 

“Definitely has a record player, idolizes Kurt Cobain, and despite his commitment to a simplistic lifestyle probably has the newest iPhone.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Nancy nods again, pressing her lips together. “You don’t need to continue.” 

Steve groans, leaning back in his seat and pushing his mug away from him.“I can’t fucking stand him but he’s just so _fascinating_.Like...”He sits back up, looking at Nancy intensely.“I’m pretty sure he’s a genius, Nancy.Like seriously a genius.But the problem is he _knows_  he’s a genius, so he’s like, a total—“ 

“Wet blanket,” Nancy finishes for him, and Steve nods, slumping in his seat again.

“So...” she continues, picking her piece of bacon back up between her fingers, “what exactly does any of this have to do with ‘having feelings’?”

Steve rolls his tongue around in his mouth, trying to connect the dots.“What exactly did it feel like when you met Petra?”

Nancy smiles slightly, setting her neglected piece of bacon back down on her plate and staring at it, her lips twisting up with affection.Steve knows he’s already given her way too much power by asking that question.He liked listening to her talk about how much she loves Petra the first forty times, but eventually everything grows a little bit old.Even listening to happily in love people talk about being happily in love while you’re sitting there being sad and alone.But he needs to hear it again for good measure.Just in case he’s forgotten anything.

“I couldn’t get her smile out of my head,” she says softly, and all jealousy aside, Steve can see that Nancy’s already entered a different world, a dimension that exists solely for her and her girlfriend.“I just kept thinking about how I wanted to see her again.We clicked perfectly, but it was like...she challenged me, somehow.She made me want to be a better person.I liked myself better when I was with her.”

“Go back to the part about her smile,” Steve urges, and Nancy looks up at him like he’s broken her out of a trance, blinking at him slightly.

“Hm?” 

“Her smile.You couldn’t stop thinking about her smile.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nancy nods, revisiting her bacon for the millionth time and taking a bite out of it.“Her smile was so pretty.And she laughed like an angel.It was like I could hear it in the back of my head.”

“See, _that_ ,” Steve claps, making Nancy jump, and he points at her as he speaks.“The laugh.I can’t stop thinking about it.His laugh was so soft.”

Nancy’s face contorts as she considers what he’s saying.“Are you...are you sure he’s not...”

Steve sets his jaw, smacking his upturned arm onto the table and rolling his sleeve up to expose his wrist.She leans over to examine his tattoo, which is still very much empty. 

“He’s not,” he says definitively, looking up to meet Nancy’s eyes, but her gaze is still set on his arm, inquisitive.She reaches up to push his sleeve up a bit more and Steve snaps his arm away, shoving the cuff back to where it belongs. 

“Is that...his _number_?” Nancy demands, clearly scandalized, and Steve just scoffs, reaching for his fork to push his cold eggs around his plate to keep his hands busy. 

“Yeah.He’s unbelievable, I told you.”

“Steve,” Nancy warns, “you can’t call him.” 

Steve stuffs a bite of eggs into his mouth, speaking with his mouth full.“I’m not going to.”

 

•••

 

He’s not going to.He is _not_  going to.

Steve traces the number on his forearm with his finger, wet hair hanging in his eyes.It’s a bit faded now from the steam of his shower but he’d been sure to avoid that patch of skin with his soap, leaving the digits still relatively intact.

He knows he could just put the number in his phone like a normal human being.But somehow it feels like that would be an act of commitment in itself.Who knows what he’s gonna do if he takes that step?To be fair, probably still nothing, but Steve has been known to send drunk texts and usually he’s not too ashamed of them cause they just end up being sort of funny, but he feels like a drunk text isn’t even worthy of Jonathan’s eyeballs.He deserves better content than that, expects it.And Steve absolutely hates that he’s thinking like that, that he’s somehow subscribing to Jonathan’s inflated opinion of himself.It’s like it’s contagious or something, that everyone Jonathan touches is also plagued with thinking he’s the best thing since sliced bread.

He wonders if he’s being a little too harsh, projecting a bit, even.  Sure, Jonathan has an overconfidence issue.  People who don’t wouldn’t go around writing their number on random peoples’ arms when they know that it’s absolutely not their arm to write a number on.  But it is a possibility that Steve actually thinks Jonathan is so cool, just from their short conversation earlier, that he assumes that  _Jonathan_ also thinks that Jonathan is that cool.  The tone in his voice might’ve suggested otherwise, but what does Steve know?

A weird mixture of cool and awful, like, just absolutely insufferable but also far too fleeting.  The car crash you can’t look away from analogy is mildly applicable, but not quite.

Steve sighs, flopping back against his unmade bed and staring up at the ceiling.In the end, though his annoyance with Jonathan and just about everything about him (besides his laugh, and maybe besides his meek voice that contrasts with his strong words) is very real, it’s really just a stand-in for the fact that it would be totally and completely stupid to contact him in any way.  If Steve’s soulmate was annoying he would still definitely talk to them, still definitely fall in love with them and everything would be fine.  Steve can handle annoying.  Grow to love it even.

But Jonathan isn’t his person, and Jonathan is way too flirtatious, and it would just be a recipe for disaster.This can’t be uncharted territory, right?Somebody has to have had some sort of crush or, like, _something_  on someone that wasn’t their soulmate.And it was a fucking train wreck, which is why people don’t do this shit.Shouldn’t there be some sort of cautionary tale for children?To warn people about the Jonathans of the world?

Because as far as Steve is aware this just...isn’t a thing that happens.You have eyes for your soulmate and only your soulmate.No one else even makes a blip on your radar.

And yet here Jonathan is like a big, recurrent blip that says something unpalatable every once in a while.

He throws his arm over his eyes, and he swears he can feel the burn of the phone number against his skin.What would make more sense than anything else is that this just isn’t what he thinks.He’s lonely, and desperate, and everyone around him is in love and this guy who is kind of douchey but undeniably suave gave him some attention and now he’s just clinging to the experience, white knuckles and all.He doesn’t know what it’s like to meet his soulmate, and he’s sure when he does it’ll blow all this completely out of the water.He doesn’t know what that feeling is _like_ , won’t know what it’s like until he actually feels it, because everyone always insists that it’s indescribable.He just needs to bang one out and go to sleep and stop letting all Jonathan’s flippant attitude get to his head.

He lifts his arm up and focuses his eyes on his tattoo, on the sharp lines of it contrasting with the fading number scrunched up next to it.Who is he fucking kidding, it’s getting to his head.He’s not gonna call, but it is definitely getting to his head. 

He wonders how many people’s skin Jonathan has gotten under just in the past week or so.He should reach out to them and form a support group.Maybe he can get confirmation on the collection of Sex Pistols tees.

Maybe somebody has a picture of Jonathan in one of them.


End file.
